V Soma Pavamana

1. Loud as a river's roaring wave thy powers have lifted up themselves:

Urge on thine arrow's sharpened point!

2. At thine effusion upward rise three voices fresh and strong, when thou.

Flowest upon the fleecy ridge.

3. On to the fleece they urge with stones the dear, the goldencoloured one,

Even Pavamana dropping meath.

4. Flow with thy current to the sieve, O Sage, best giver of delight,

To seat these in the shrine of song!

5. Best giver of delight, flow on anointed with the milk for balm,

And enter into Indra's throat!